The Voldemort Conspiracy
by snarryvader81
Summary: Lord Voldemort. Those two words strike terror into the hearts of anyone who hears them. But, what if Lord Voldemort really didn't exist? When Harry finds Tom Riddle locked in a makeshift Death Eater prison, his life is suddenly turned upside down.
1. Tom Marvolo Riddle

What if everything you ever thought was true turned out to be a lie?

What if the very foundation of your beliefs was suddenly pulled out from under you, leaving everything in chaos and confusion? What if everything you believed to be right was, in truth, wrong?

When the clock struck midnight on July 31, 1991, and a giant man with a wild beard knocked down the door, everything Harry Potter thought was right, was sensible, was the _truth_, became void, and a new set of facts and truths took their place.

Harry Potter wasn't a normal boy - he was a wizard. And not only that, he was famous.

Contrary to what his relatives always said, magic most definitely did exist.

James and Lily Potter didn't die in a car accident - they were murdered.

And the man who murdered them? The reason Harry was famous?

Lord Voldemort.

Two words - one name - which changed Harry Potter's life forever.

Lord Voldemort.

Not much was really known about the man who was Lord Voldemort. Arguably, he was the darkest wizard who ever lived, and certainly one of the most sadistic. He tortured for fun, he had hated muggles, he liked to kill, and his followers were known as the Death Eaters.

But no one knew anything about who Lord Voldemort really was. He had never been seen in public - was his hair black? Brown? Blond? Were his eyes blue? Brown? Green? How old was he? 20? 30? 40?

No one knew. And truthfully, no one wanted to know.

Lord Voldemort.

Two little words which struck so much fear into the heart of the average witch and wizard that they had long ago stopped speaking them, preferring to instead say the rather childish 'You-Know-Who' or 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'.

L - O - R - D -- V - O - L - D - E - M - O - R - T

Very few knew that the Dark Lord's name was an anagram, the rearranged letters of a common muggle name, discovered by a young Hogwarts Student one night in the Slytherin Common Room.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Such a common name. Tom.

And how perfect an anagram it was.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

I am Lord Voldemort.

It was almost as if he was born to be a Dark Lord, destined to have his name feared - the letters rearranged themselves so beautifully.

Lord Voldemort.

The Order of the Phoenix was developed on the belief that Lord Voldemort needed to be stopped.

But what if there was no Lord Voldemort to stop?

* * *

The dungeons were dark, dreary, and completely without light. The musty air was heavy with the odors of gore and death. Anguished moans and weeping echoed throughout the long, twisting corridors. 

The very atmosphere of the wretched, pain-filled place made Harry Potter shiver. Who knew that someone's very _basement_ could be such a place of horrors? How could someone live in the mansion above, knowing what was going on right below the floor?

Well - the house had belonged to Death Eaters, after all. That must've played a part in it.

"It - it looks almost like they were using it as some type of prison . . ." Nymphadora Tonks whispered, glancing around.

"Everybody get into pairs and spread out!" Mad Eye Moody snapped, as loud as he dared.

Harry and Tonks glanced at each other, wordlessly agreeing to work together. Each pair of Order Members all drew their wands and proceeded to carefully take off down different hallways and corridors, making sure there were no Death Eaters hiding in the shadows.

Harry and Tonks clutched their wands tighter and began to cautiously move forward, their heads moving back and forth as they tried to look in every cell that lined the hallway. Harry was oddly reminded of his first trip to Diagon Alley.

Each cell that lined the corridor was small and dirty. Each held several prisoners, some of which Harry could tell were already dead. The conditions they were being kept in were inhumane - the cells were dirty with only one small, filthy cot to serve as a bed. Blood, along with other fluids Harry couldn't identify off the top of his head, stained the walls and floors. The air was heavy with the smell of sweat and mold. A steady tap - tap - tap echoed throughout the dungeon, suggesting that water was somehow getting into the building.

The last cell in the hallway, however, was different. It was just as dirty, but there was only one person - one man - being held inside it.

The man was terribly emaciated, with limp black hair that was plastered to his head. The filthy rags he wore barely covered him, instead exposing ugly bruises and cuts which marred his unhealthily white skin.

Harry at first didn't know if he was alive or dead, as he was curled into a tight fetal position and completely motionless, but the man suddenly seemed to realize that someone was watching him and managed to lift his head up to look at him.

The man's face was gaunt and haggard - but Harry was struck with an intense sensation of Deja Vu. There was something about those eyes - that face . . .

His wand held securely in front of him, Harry cautiously walked closer to the cell's bars and knelt down. The man cringed away and tried in futile to back up.

"Oh - no, no, no - I'm - I'm not here to hurt you," Harry stuttered, trying to make his voice sound soothing. The man reluctantly stopped trying to get away, instead opting to glare at him weakly with distrust.

"We're here to help you - free you." Harry swallowed, looking the man over again. He was sure that he'd seen the man somewhere before - But he was so deteriorated physically . . .

"Could you - could you tell me something?" Harry asked quietly. The man hesitated but finally nodded weakly.

"What's your name?"

The man swallowed and licked his parched lips, opening his mouth. No sound came out except a raspy croak. Shutting his mouth again and lightly clearing his throat, he finally got his voice to work.

"Tom," he said hoarsely. "Tom Marvolo Riddle."

* * *

**Author's Note: **I've been thinking about writing something like this for a long time, but I've had (and still have) the worst case of writer's block in the world, so I haven't been writing very much lately (nor have I been updating any of my other stories). 

I'm pretty sure where I'm going with this story, so I hope I can update fairly fast. Please read and review!!!

Thanks,

Snarryvader81 (aka Anna)


	2. To Remember

_Tom Marvolo Riddle . . ._

_I Am Lord Voldemort . . ._

The clank of Harry Potter's wand hitting the ground echoed through the damp corridors of the makeshift prison.

_Tom. Marvolo. Riddle._

"_Voldemort is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter . . ."_

_I. Am. Lord. Voldemort._

"_It was a name I was already using at Hogwarts, to my most intimate friends only, of course. You think I was going to use my filthy Muggle father's name forever?"_

Staring at the man with wide, disbelieving eyes, Harry staggered backwards, away from the cell, not stopping until his back collided with the wall.

The man who claimed to be Lord Voldemort stared back, seemingly puzzled at Harry's reaction.

"You . . ." Harry croaked, his voice suddenly rough and dry. "You aren't Tom Riddle."

'Tom' didn't reply. He just stared at him with that same puzzled look, tilting his head to the side like an animal does when they see or hear something particularly curious.

No, no - this wreak of a human being before him wasn't Tom Riddle. He couldn't be. Riddle was tall, proud, and arrogant, not beaten, broken, and fearful. He was the exact opposite of the man in the cell.

Harry felt hysterical laughter bubbling up to the surface at his next thought. Tom Riddle didn't exactly look like a human, anymore did he? Oh, he was still tall, still proud, and still incredibly arrogant, but he wasn't a _man_! He was a bloody snake! A _snake_!

And really, the man in the cell didn't look at all like a snake. He had hair, for thing, and a nose—

_Hair just like Tom Marvolo Riddle's, don't you think, Harry?_

"No," Harry growled to himself. "No, no, no!"

"Why can't I be Tom Riddle?"

Harry startled violently at the sound of the man's hoarse voice. "What?" he demanded sharply.

The man blinked at him, seemingly processing the question. Several seconds of silence later, he spoke.

"Why can't I be Tom Riddle? I am."

"No, you're not!" Harry spat. "You're not! You can't be! You're lying!"

"I'm not lying!" countered the man, his voice cracking from strain.

Harry gritted his teeth and wrung his hands. "Fine, then. Fine. "Tom". If you _insist_ that you're him, then when were you born? What day? What year? Where?"

'Tom' stared at him blankly for several seconds, thinking. "I - I - I don't know!" he finally admitted, blinking rapidly. "I can't remember! Why can't I remember?!"

Harry smirked, a flood of relief crashing over him. "You aren't Riddle." He let out a little laugh that had a hysterical edge to it. "You don't know Riddle's own birthday," he breathed. "You're not him." He bent over, picked up his wand, and started back off down the hall, trying to put the man out of his mind. He was past the neighboring cell when the man's voice rang out.

"December."

Harry stopped dead in his tracks. "What?" he croaked.

"December. I - I remember! December! Thirty - thirty-first! Nineteen twenty six! Nineteen twenty six! December the thirty-first, nineteen-twenty-six. In London."

Harry's hand tightened painfully around his wand. Slowly, he began to walk backwards, until he was standing in front of the man's cell. He slanted his eyes towards him, and saw that 'Tom' was smiling weakly yet oh-so-self-righteously at him.

"Excuse me?"

"That's my birthday," 'Tom' croaked, his voice getting stronger. "December thirty-first, nineteen twenty six. London, England."

Harry licked his lips nervously. "Where in London?"

Tom swallowed. "An - an orphanage. I was raised – raised there, yes - because my mother died. Giving birth to me."

"What was your mother's name?" Harry demanded.

". . . . Merope."

"And her last name?"

"Gaunt. Merope Gaunt."

"Father's name?"

". . . It was my name. Tom." His self righteous smile grew to be even wider. "I can remember. I can remember!!"

Harry sagged back against the wall. "This - this is not happening. This is impossible."

"Harry?" a voice spoke up from behind him.

Harry glanced behind him, where Tonks had just come back down the corridor.

"Tonks," he moaned. "I've just found Lord Voldemort locked in one of his own prison cells. What do you think I should do?"

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'm so sorry I haven't updated for so long! Writers block, a long distance move, and serious computer trouble have really delayed me. The italic quotes in the beginning of the chapter are taken from The Chamber of Secrets. The next chapter should come faster than this one!

Thanks a ton for all the reviews! They really encouraged me!

-Snarryvader81 (aka Anna)


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